Something flashed in her eyes—excitement, maybe—and her hand tightened ever-so-slightly around her mug. “Really?” She raised a brow, waiting for me to elaborate.
I opened my mouth, about to tell her the entire memory, but something stopped me. “It was just a random memory from one of my first days of senior year.”
“And you’re sure it wasn’t just a dream?”
“Yes, of course. It felt so real. And a lot lined up with what I know happened—like my teacher Mrs. Lawrence, and my last block being science.” Why wasn’t I mentioning Jasper? It was like someone had locked that section of my mind and hidden the key from my mouth.
“It is absolutely impossible for you to have remembered something that you lost from the accident. The neurosurgeons expressly told us that it just couldn’t happen. You must have just imagined it, or it wasn’t a memory that you had lost. The human mind works in unexplainable ways sometimes.” Mother nodded and smiled like she was proud to have made sense of the situation.
Was it possible? It seemed unlikely that something so vivid could have been a dream, but even more unlikely that what I dreamt last night could’ve been a memory I had never lost. It just didn’t add up. I would have recognized Jasper in the parking lot or backstage, wouldn’t I have? But after that dream—memory—I felt like I had uncovered something I thought was lost forever.
But what did I know? I should believe what the neurosurgeons and my parents were telling me and write off any thoughts of my own. I wouldn’t want to seem disobedient or untrusting of Mother’s superiority. I had broken far too many of Oportet’s rules in my lifetime, and they were all broken within the memories I had lost. I had to remember: My accident was a blessing.
“I guess you’re right. It must have been my mind playing tricks on me.”
Mother let out a breath and took a sip of her tea. “Of course, darling. Remember to come to me if you have any other questions, okay?” She searched my eyes for a moment, and then her shoulders relaxed as she sat back in her chair.
“I will.”
Mother’s face calmed slightly as she scribbled down notes. Her body language was enough to let me know that this conversation was both over and a waste of her time. She worked as a secretary for the Council, and was constantly filing paperwork—even on the weekends. I was disappointed in myself for bothering her first thing in the morning, drawing her away from her work. I gave my head a little shake. This case of the flu was screwing with my mind.
~~~~~
The medicine kicked in about halfway through the book I was reading about the founding of Oportet, and I immediately felt my body cooling. As I turned the pages, I became more and more disinterested. My mind floated elsewhere, and no matter how hard I tried, I could not stop thinking about the mysterious boy who now haunted my dreams.
Jasper.
Even with my brain running at full capacity, I simply couldn’t figure out what was so important about him. I traced buried memories from the summer before senior year, which produced a wave of strong emotions: despair and this unmistakable feeling of dread that weighed me down, suffocating me anytime I tried to remember the events of last year.
And still, when it came to Jasper? Nothing.
Every single file in my mind was completely void of Jasper. Was that even his name? Or did my subconscious mind just make that up, along with the rest of the dream? There was only one way to find out, and it scared the hell out of me.
I had to somehow track this boy down and ask him. There were a great many problems to this plan. Like the fact that the last time he saw me he looked at me like I did something to royally piss him off. Or he may not be a part of my past at all. Yet, even with all of the difficulties presented, the internal forces that needed me to find him and get the truth were not letting up, and I almost didn’t want them to.
~~~~~
“Jenna would like you to call her,” Father announced. At the verge of sleep, I jolted up at the sudden burst of noise.
“Okay,” I responded after letting out a loud yawn. After a few more moments of resting, I groggily struggled out from beneath my cozy blankets and shuffled to the upstairs phone.
The hallway was surprisingly dark for that early in the day. I battled with the multitude of switches on the wall until I found the right one. I squinted as the entire hallway was illuminated with a blinding light. I groaned as I continued down the hall, stopping to notice the time on the grandfather clock.
It was 10:40 PM. That explained my growling stomach and quiet home. I must have fallen back asleep after Father came in. I retreated back down the hall, and then paused when I heard strained, frantic voices from my parent’s room. I knew better than to eavesdrop, but something about the tone of Mother’s voice made me freeze in my tracks.
“I just didn’t know what to do, or how to handle it! I know you talked with him and he confirmed everything we already knew, but…oh, I don’t know, David! It just seemed different, so concerning…what if—”
“Jennifer. You know that’s impossible.” My father’s insistent voice made me cringe from the other side of the door. Whatever they were discussing was private, and I was definitely intruding. I scurried back to my room, wondering for the fifth time today what was wrong with my common sense.
Everything felt different as I lay in the warmth of my bed. My mind fully alert, all I could do was absently trace my fingers over the intricate patterns woven into my comforter. Even in the dark, I envisioned the familiar floral designs etched into the fabric: the patterns that had been consistent since I could barely talk. It was nice to have something, even something as insignificant as a piece of fabric, that didn’t change.
I had always been afraid of change. It haunted me, tested me, and made me question things I had never thought to question before. Maybe the reason it had always frightened me was because change was full of the unknown. I never knew how things were going to change, I just knew that they would, and that scared me more than anything else in the world.
I knew that change was necessary in order to evolve, but in Oportet, too much was frowned upon. There were standards that had to be met, standards that made Oportet what it was. Oportet gave lives meaning. Change screwed me over when I went from being a model citizen, never questioning authority and always doing as I was told, to a disobedient nightmare. Change almost ruined my life.
As I continued to trace my comforter and stare at the moon through my open curtains, the thought of change seemed nothing short of appalling. Change was dangerous, a pathway that only led to destruction.
Chapter Four
“It’s Luna’s turn to wash the dishes,” Megan announced as she stood from the table.
“And where are you going, young lady?” Father asked. Megan pointed to her textbooks lying idly on the coffee table and sighed. Father nodded in approval. “Sounds like a great idea. If I get any negative emails about your grades again, you’ll be forbidden from seeing your friends for the rest of the school year.”
“What? Dad! It’s the second week of school.” Megan threw her arms up in protest. Mother and I exchanged glances as we watched this father-daughter scene unfold.
“Megan, you had a major problem last year, and I don’t want it repeating. What is Rule Fifty-Seven?” This was one of Father’s favorites when dealing with Megan.
“Students will put forth the utmost effort in anything pertaining to his or her education; nothing short of academic excellence…” Megan faded out, deciding she’d said enough. Father nodded and let her stalk off to study.
“So how are your classes going, Luna?”
I had just stuffed my mouth with a bite of salad. After some furious chewing and swallowing I could finally talk without flashing my parents with half-chewed greens. “Fine. I’m not so excited about my science research project, though. I have to go to the Science Museum tomorrow.” I cleverly avoided referring to Jasper. I did not know how my parents would react to me having to spend time with someone like him. They wer
e more closed-minded than others in our society.
“Sounds like fun. So do you think you might like to do something with science later in life?” Mother hinted not so subtly.
Just thinking about being some sort of scientist for the rest of my life made me cringe. So wasn’t happening. “No, not really. I don’t think science is my…calling.” That was the most courteous way I knew how to say it.
Father’s eyes narrowed. “And what is it you are leaning toward?”
I stared down at my plate and fiddled with the tassels on my placemat. “I like writing,” I blurted. Mother and Father traded glances. Father opened his mouth as if to say something, shook his head, and then closed it.
“Writing what, exactly?” Mother finally asked.
“I don’t know. Whenever we have to write an essay for class, I always get the highest grade. I really enjoy writing down my thoughts and opinions on things.” I winced at my choice of words.
Writing for fun was forbidden, especially opinion writing—unless for academic purposes, of course. Being a writer was one of the least prestigious occupations. Any creative occupation was. Working for the Council, writers notified the public of any special announcements or information through the Oportet Journal, wrote textbooks, composed rulebooks with special explanations for the younger grades, and a select few privileged writers had the permission to write historical novels or Meaningful Novels. The Meaningful Novel’s purpose was to remind the people of Oportet why we have it right—the way we live our life, the condemning of the Outside, and the reason we were here to live our lives.
These novels also included powerful testimonies of Outsiders entering Oportet who had finally realized the meaning of life or biographies of councilmen and other past or present influential members of Oportet.
“Being any sort of writer,” Father all but spit the word at me, “would be settling beneath you. You have worked too hard in school to earn less than a grocery store clerk.” Father had a way with saying things bluntly. I knew what kind of job my parents truly longed for me to have—they dreamed of me following in their footsteps and working within the government.
“But…what if I wrote Meaningful Novels?” My words were struggling to latch on to something. The hole was already too deep. I looked over at Mother for some help, but she looked away.
“It’s a bit too late to be making that kind of decision. You would have had to be going to all kinds of workshops and classes in the Council’s building to be something like that. Don’t tell me that being a writer is the only occupation you have considered.” He crossed his arms and drew his eyebrows together.
I swallowed under his scrutiny. “No, of course not. I just don’t know what I want to be yet. You caught me by surprise.” Mother gave me a tentative smile, and Father’s facial muscles relaxed.
“Once you have given it some thought, I would love to hear some of your ideas. Don’t forget how well you do in your government classes,” Father hinted. And with that he exited the room, leaving Mother and me sitting at the table.
“I’m sorry if you feel we’re pressuring you, but your future is important to us, and we want to give you the best guidance we can to help you succeed.” She reached out to rest her hand on my shoulder. “Go wash the dishes, and maybe later we can play some of those board games Megan got for her birthday.”
Halfway through doing the dishes, I heard the phone ring. Interrupting me mid-thought, the noise startled me to the point where I lost my hold on the slippery dinner plate. I watched helplessly as it fell, and then shattered on the yellow tiles.
“Shit,” I muttered absently, my heart thumping in my chest. The plates we had used that night were my late grandmother’s. I ran my soapy hands through my hair as I assessed the damage. I hoped with all my strength that it didn’t leave a mark on the floor. “Shit, shit, shit.” Before I could bend down to pick up the pieces of glass, Mother was suddenly in front of me.
In one swift movement, her hand collided with the side of my face. A burst of pain flooded my head, and I felt myself lose balance. I stumbled, reaching my hands up to cradle the part of my face she had struck. Shards of glass pierced the bottoms of my feet. I slowly lifted my gaze from my feet, now drenched in blood, to Mother’s face.
“How dare you blatantly ignore a rule!” she roared. “This is why your Father and I detest allowing you and Megan to be in the same school as the children of Outsiders. You are lucky it was me who heard you say such an obscene word! If I ever hear a word like that leave your mouth again, you will be severely punished.”
I stared at her helplessly.
“It will do you well to remember that the Council’s rules are the glue that holds this society together and the only thing that makes us better than the filthy creatures that dwell behind our walls. Do you understand me?” Mother’s entire body shook with rage, her face tinted an unnatural shade of red.
“I—I understand,” I croaked. Surges of pain erupted from the bottoms of both of my feet, drawing attention away from the numb, stinging sensation on my face.
Mother closed her eyes, seemingly calming herself. When she spoke next, her voice was more leveled. “Clean up this mess. I don’t want to hear you speak for the rest of the night.” She glared at me for one more moment before turning on her heel and stomping away.
I felt hot tears running down my cheeks as I stood, frozen. Frustrated with myself, I wiped the moisture from my face. Crying showed weakness; and I was by no means weak.
Chapter Five
I woke up shaking. Heat radiated off of me in waves, and as I shifted under the covers, I could feel my clothes clinging to my body. I tried to sit up, but my weak muscles and vertigo sent me falling backward against my pillows once more. My mouth was dry, making my sole thought how I could get a glass of water without getting out of bed.
For a while, I simply stared at the ceiling. My eyes followed each crack, and I even attempted to count every imperfection in the light yellow paint—anything to keep my mind from assessing last night’s memory.
I could no longer pretend that it was anything less. It was like I had a book with missing pages, and when I found a page, I knew it belonged in the book—because it fit. Each page was adding to the story, and it was beginning to scare me less and less. Somehow, finding the missing pieces of my memory was like stitching myself back together after being torn apart by some freak accident. I was beginning to want—no, need—to stitch myself back together again. Not just the good parts, but the bad parts, too.
I knew that before the accident I had gone against everything Oportet stood for, but I hated relying on the accounts of others instead of my own. I was confident that having the rest of the story would not alter my current state of mind. It would only strengthen my faith that living in Oportet was the only true way to live my life.
Yet, even with these thoughts swirling around in my head, I could not draw myself away from the fact that Mother had acted so harshly towards me. I recounted the coldness in her eyes as she told me to clean my mess up—my ripped, bloody skin included. How had I extracted each miniscule piece of glass from my feet? I had deserved all that had been given to me, hadn’t I? After all, I had broken a very clear rule.
My family had treated me like royalty since the accident. The Council had taken a special interest in my story of how I recovered from a rough patch during my teenage years and realized the error of my ways. They had given me special opportunities ever since to share my story—and help out my family in the process. It landed my father a promotion, and almost guaranteed me a well-paying job.
Finally I couldn’t stand the heat enveloping my body anymore, so I crawled out of bed and began my trek to the kitchen. I wobbled down the dark hallway, pausing to listen for signs of any other member of the household’s presence. The house was silent except for the ticking of the grandfather clock.
I steadied myself against the banister as I made my way down the steps. My bare feet met the cold, wooden surface with caution
: the feeling of glass piercing my skin not entirely out of my mind. I even had the urge to examine the soles under lighting to see if there were any scars.
After consuming my much-needed dose of flu medicine and cold water, I collapsed into a chair and propped my left foot on my lap, followed by my right.
Sure enough, both feet had an array of faint, pinkish markings. I took in a sharp breath as I placed my foot back onto the tan carpet.
I had decided with a startling sense of certainty to keep the news of my remembrance to myself for now. I tried to justify my reasons for breaking Rule Forty-Seven—Children shall never keep anything from his/her parents or authority figures—but in the end I just had to accept that I had no good reason for this level of disrespect. And the funny thing was, as much as I wanted to feel bad about that, the need to keep this secret to myself overpowered the majority of my guilt.
“I heard that I gave you the flu,” Megan said as she passed me on her way to the medicine cabinet. “I thought it was terrible for me to be missing my first week of eighth grade, but it must be even worse for you.”
I furrowed my brows and gave her a questioning look.
“You know, your first Occupational Guidance Session?” She turned away to cough like she was dying. I was not looking forward to that symptom.
“Oh! Yeah…it’s pretty terrible. This is the worst case of the flu I’ve ever had, so thanks a lot,” I joked.
She smiled as she plopped a watermelon cough drop in her mouth. “Anytime.” She sat down across from me with her make-up work in hand. I flicked her arm with as much force as I could muster, laughing when she let out a little squeal.
“You’re such a little brat, Megan.” I was incredibly thankful that my relationship with my sister wasn’t tarnished by my pre-accident behavior. If it weren’t for Megan and Jenna, my best friend, I didn’t know how I would’ve held it together.
Jenna told me that I had slammed the door on our friendship last year—something I had no recollection of—and she still welcomed me back with open arms. That’s what a best friend was for: forgiving even the worst transgressions.
Awaken (The Awaken Series Book 1) Page 2